


Lethdor -- Healing After the Battle

by MaureenLycaon



Category: World of Warcraft, World of Warcraft: Legion - Fandom
Genre: F/M, Original Characters - Freeform, Originally Posted on Tumblr
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-11
Updated: 2020-03-11
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:35:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23104846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaureenLycaon/pseuds/MaureenLycaon
Summary: He was hit on the head, after all. Can Lethdor still cast spells?





	Lethdor -- Healing After the Battle

**Author's Note:**

> (After the Battle of Broken Shore, Lethdor needs to know if he can still be a mage.
> 
> Copyright disclaimer: the Warcraft universe and games belong to Blizzard Entertainment. Only the interpretation and these particular words belong to me, Maureen Lycaon. No copyright challenge intended.)

Floating up from a poorly-remembered dream, Lethdor became aware of hot, throbbing pain in his hip.

 _Oh, right._ It was the wound he'd gotten at Broken Shore, when that felhound had taken a nice big bite of him.

He didn't move, letting his wits reassemble themselves as he finished waking up. He felt Faen's warmth beside him. Opening his eyes, he became aware of the dim golden light filtering into the tent. It was dawn. No doubt someone would bring him a meal soon. After that, a sadistic healer would drag him off for his therapy.

Lethdor glanced over at Faen's still-motionless form, turned away a little so as not to wake her, and stretched as well as he could with only three sound limbs, wincing.

He moved to sit up, and the pain in his hip flared up afresh. He glanced down at the bandage tightly bound around it, and sighed. It had just been a low, background ache the first few days; they'd drugged him heavily after drawing the fel from it. Then they tapered off the pain-killing potions and spells and began the therapy, and he awoke every day to the sharp, burning pain.

_Not as bad as yesterday, though._

Faen grumbled in her sleep, stirring. He reached over to pat her shoulder, and she murmured softly and subsided again.

Moving as slowly and carefully as he could manage to avoid waking her (and causing himself more pain), Lethdor managed to crawl out of the tent. _There. I couldn't have done that three days ago._

Pulling himself to his feet, he took a step. Lights flashed across his vision at the pain. Standing motionless, he breathed hard, enduring the pain, waiting for it to subside, gnawing worry prodding at him with every breath. He took a step. Another. Yes, he could do this.

He hobbled slowly, so slowly, through the rows of tents lined up in the courtyard of Light's Hope Chapel. Emerging from the last row, he saw a pair of healers and an aide bearing a tray of breakfast bowls already heading quietly but purposefully toward the tents on the other side. He'd escaped just in time.

He limped away, hoping they wouldn't notice him or at least not stop him, toward the combat practice yard with its target dummies.

The epic journey left him panting and half-blind with pain when he finally reached it. Another worry flashed across his mind, whether he'd ever be able to climb again. _How can I gather geology samples if I'm crippled?_

Before the invasions, the chapel practice area had been no more than a bare handful of target dummies, most of them not even treated with magic. Now, it covered as much ground as the chapel itself, and the Argent Crusade had shipped in the magical versions that would stand up to more punishment. But the practice yard was empty and silent as he entered it.

Lethdor pushed both pain and thought aside as he limped into the ring with the dummies. Without his staff, this would be more difficult –- but he had to know . . .

Closing his eyes, he began to concentrate. The pain screamed, then began to recede as he practiced a mental exercise. Nothing in his thoughts felt cloudy or murky.

He began the first exercise to gather the arcane energy. It answered, but slowly, stumblingly, haltingly. Lethdor tried to ignore the icy chill in his heart.

_Don't panic._

He forced himself to be calm, and kept calling upon the energy. It was like filling a big basin from a trickling tap, but the flow speeded up as he continued. When he had gathered enough, he released it back into the world – slowly, with as much control as he could manage.

At first, he fumbled like a person just waking up from sleep. He repeated the exercise again, and then again. Each time, the energy responded more readily to his call, and his mental grip on the power was a little surer.

Time to try some spellwork. Lethdor called up the energy again and readied a simple frostbolt. Then he lifted one hand, and fired at the nearest practice dummy. He felt weak, so weak, without the boost of his staff --

But when he focused his gaze on the dummy, he saw that a sheath of ice was melting off it. His knees almost buckled with the relief.

He could still work magic. The concussion hadn't crippled him.

"Lord Lethdor Morningshard! What are you *doing* here, you fool?"

Lethdor turned to see the red-haired healer standing just outside the ring, her hands on her hips, glaring at him. Danvea Flameshadow. _Oh, shit._

He released the power, turned to her, and nearly staggered as pain shot down his leg and up his back –- and through his head. She neatly jumped the rope and ran the two steps to him, seizing his elbow, fingers gripping tightly in a no-nonsense way.

When he had regained his balance, he opened his mouth to explain himself, then remembered that it wouldn't do any good.

"Here," she said through gritted teeth. "I'll help you back to your tent."

She practically hauled him back across the courtyard. He didn't resist or say anything. He was too busy putting one foot ahead of the other.

When they reached the tent, Lethdor saw the gleam of eyes within; Faen was awake. Before he could say anything to her, Danvea halted, still holding his arm. She turned to look him full in the face again as she let go of his arm.

Even as she did so, her expression softened. "I know," she said, holding up one hand. "You wanted to see if you could still wield magic. Sit tight. We'll have a mage coming who can help – in a couple of days. You're not the only mage who's ever been bopped over the head, you know. Now, get inside and stay put until we come for you."

She helped Lethdor crawl back into the tent without doing himself any further injury. Faen, already sitting up, gave him her classic ironic look, a half-smile on her lips. She said nothing until Danvea satisfied herself that Lethdor was not going to get back up again, then left.

Lethdor settled back down, and sighed. If only he had a drink.

"So you got yourself into trouble?" Faen asked.

"You could say that," he admitted.

"What happened?"

After he explained, she smiled again. "You still need to stay put," she told him. "That bite went into muscle. You'll get a good workout soon enough. In fact," her eyes got that mischievous glint, "let me help you get ready for it. My good arm needs exercise, too. I'll make it worth your while." She winked. "Lie down on your good side – to start with."

As it turned out, it was _very_ worth his while.


End file.
